


Things that combine to, among other things, orange

by Mirradin



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Aftermath, Gangbang, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Rivalry, no onscreen sexual content sadly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 02:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirradin/pseuds/Mirradin
Summary: Tagora arranges a fitting anniversary celebration for his kismesis.





	Things that combine to, among other things, orange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caracalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/gifts).

The front door slams shut, presumably after the last of his --  _ uninvited houseguests. _

Galekh turns his head to the side, very carefully. Despite his best efforts, the movement causes more of the --  _ fluid  _ \-- to spill down his chin. His necktie is going to be beyond salvation, if it wasn’t already.

“You,” he rasps at the seated figure of his kismesis, “are  _ reprehensible _ .”

Tagora smiles wider, crossing his legs as he leans back in his chair. He’s as neat as a pin, not a hair out of place, not a scuff or stain to be seen. “Really? And here I thought you might appreciate the networking opportunity.”

“ _ Networking— _ ” Galekh has to break off to cough up another splatter of yellow. “Did you find those psionic moirails in a  _ ditch. _ ” 

“In an alley, as a matter of fact.” Tagora examines his claws, insufferably smug. “The  _ rust _ was in the ditch.”

That accounts for the smell. Galekh manages to laugh, despite the lingering twitches in his abdomen. “Is that where you’re finding all your clients now?”

“I have a perfectly acceptable list of professional contacts,” Tagora snaps. “I found this evening’s assistance through a mutual — acquaintance.”

So that  _ was _ the cerulean he met before. Galekh was fairly certain, but it was hard to make an identification from a (pierced) bulge buried in his throat while the one-eyed yellowblood ran psionic currents through his abdomen.

“And did you tell our mutual  _ friend _ just what you wanted their contact list for?” he inquiries bitingly. Not that he should care, but the alien is so hopelessly naive —

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I didn’t.” Tagora actually sounds  _ affronted.  _

Well. All right, then.

He thinks longingly of ruining Tagora’s pristine suit. It wouldn’t take much; the tattered remains of his painstakingly selected evening outfit are, if possible, even more soaked in genetic material than his hair. He’s going to have to burn this coffee table, and possibly the carpet. A handful of cloth would be a good enough weapon.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t think he can move.

It’s not a matter of physical exertion. He is hardly so unfit that the act of pailing could render him incapacitated. Psionic currents, however, are a different story, and with that voidrot-infested energy sink of a yellow — and that one-eyed psionic — and the  _ other  _ psionic with the half-feral olive matesprit — and the gigantic subjugglator —

The physical exertion may be a significant contributing factor.

Perhaps he can turn this to his advantage.

“You’ll need to help me to the bathroom.”

  
The look on Tagora’s face is  _ priceless. _


End file.
